Dark Horizon
by LadyShada
Summary: AU and/or Missing Scene ficlet set during Revenge of the Sith. "The fault was his, and Anakin knew it. But what made it all the more difficult was that it didn't feel wrong..." With the fate of the galaxy and their own lives hanging in the balance, Anakin and Padmé come to a decision regarding the future of their family.


"You're talking about this like it's just another speech." Anakin gave the datapad a rough toss onto the conform couch in the center of the room and put his hand to his neck, rubbing at the base of his hairline. He was tired of turning over word after word just to find the _right_ word only to have the right ones sound so wrong when he practiced them outloud. This was Padmé's arena - the wordplay, the negotiating, the politics. None of it suited Anakin. He turned with an exasperated sigh and looked out the long, picturesque window at the waning sunlight reflecting off of the silver Coruscanti skyline. "It's like you're up there requesting planetary aid from the Senate or something," he added with a frustrated wave of his hand.

"Is it really that different?" Padmé questioned as she came forward, scooping the datapad up and lowering herself carefully onto the plush cushion. She winced slightly and pressed a palm to the bulge in her belly before continuing. "Asking for help - in any context - carries with it the same set of uncertainties and vulnerabilities."

Anakin turned to look at his wife - his brown-eyed, beautiful, _secret_ wife. The secret wife with the secret baby growing day after day within her womb. A blessing wrapped in darkness and scandal, and he had been the one to suggest the charade from the very beginning. The fault was his, and Anakin knew it. But what made it all the more difficult was that it didn't feel _wrong_ \- not his marriage, not their child, not Padmé. Despite Obi-Wan's teachings and the rhetoric of the Jedi Code and the painfully ancient viewpoints of the Council, nothing about any of this felt dishonorable.

Except for the lie that it forced him to live. Forced them both to live.

He had the Jedi to blame for that.

"Anakin?" Padmé's soft voice broke through the silence that lay between them, killing Anakin's spiraling train of thought. The young Jedi looked down, now mindful of the right hand which had clenched into a tight fist. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. The mechanical fingers fell open with a soft whir of servomotors.

"How can you be sure he'd even help us?" Anakin said finally, his voice low. "You know Obi-Wan's views on the Code, his standing with the Council." He crossed over the short distance toward her.

"I know his views on _you_," Padmé answered without hesitation, looking up at him as he settled next to her on the conform couch.

Anakin snorted and shook his head. "Yeah," he said. "The short-fused, loose ion cannon of a Padawan that he tried _so_ hard to keep inside the Hyperspace lane." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into the plush cushions behind him. Years of lectures played out in Anakin's mind in the proper Kenobi accent - endless lessons born out of Skywalker's own petulance, impatience, or arrogance. Or all three.

Anakin closed his eyes and put a hand to his head, rubbing at his brow with a deep sigh. "I can't help but think this is a bad idea," he said quietly.

Padmé responded by reaching up and sifting her fingers through the back of his hair in a comforting gesture. Anakin reacted instantly to the touch, his shoulders relaxing, his head falling back into her palm. This was what mattered, he thought. Moments like this, here and now. No Council, no war, no Code, no politics. Just the calming presence of his wife beside him and the quiet little light of their unborn child flickering ever so softly in the ebb and flow of the Force around him. If he could preserve this - preserve _them_ \- it would be worth any effort. No matter the cost.

The furrow in Anakin's brow untangled itself a moment later, and the rise and fall of his chest felt more even and calm when he reached up to take Padmé's hand in his. He opened his eyes and sat up a little straighter. "Look," he said, "I'm no politician."

Padmé raised a dark eyebrow and gave him a small smile. "Oh, really?" she commented quickly with a chuckle. "I hadn't noticed." The brief spark of mischievousness that played across her face was enough to lighten his heart and his mind, and Anakin found himself hard-pressed to not laugh along with her.

"I'm just saying propositions and negotiations are more Obi-Wan's game," Anakin said with a shake of his head. "Not mine."

"That's why I think we should ask for his help," she answered honestly. Padmé shook her head slightly, a light cascade of dark hair tumbling over her shoulder with the motion. "Anakin, I can't think of another being who is more capable or in a better position to speak on our behalf."

Padmé's expression melted into something more tender, her brown eyes shifting subtly in shade along with her signature through the Force. Anakin reached out and drew the feeling closer to him on all sides, listening to it. Memorizing it. He pushed the long, brown hair back over her shoulder with a gentle motion, his hand coming back down to rest on her abdomen. Beneath his fingers, the gentle ripples of their child echoed through the Force as well as through his fingertips.

"I love you. You know that," he said, lifting his blue gaze to meet hers.

Padmé nodded as his hand fell away. "I know," she answered.

"I don't want to ask him," Anakin said honestly. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He could feel the familiar pain start to blossom in his chest, hot and heavy and threatening to spread as his voice rose in intensity. "I shouldn't _have _to ask him," Anakin protested. "It's unfair. The Council should just-" The words died suddenly in his throat, the age-old arguments sounding tired and worn out and thin even in his own mind. He couldn't count the number of times he had said the same thing, done the same thing, reacted the same way. And he always ended up right back where he started - caught in the web of confusion and impending darkness.

Maybe Padmé was right. Maybe it was time for a change.

"Okay," Anakin agreed, his voice falling to a normal timbre. "Okay, I'll do it," he repeated again, solidifying it for himself verbally. Anakin looked over at Padmé. Her face was drawn back in a manner of uncertainty - no doubt wondering if she had heard him correctly. It wasn't often he backed down, and she knew it. Maybe, he thought - just maybe - it was time to change that, too.

His wife reached out with both hands and placed her palms against his jawline. Padmé leaned forward, and her kiss was familiar and warm and everything Anakin knew he couldn't lose. "I'm proud of you," she whispered when they parted. "No matter what happens."

"Yeah," Anakin said lightly. The hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he reached out and drew her closer to him. Padmé's head fell against his shoulder, dark hair running in a river over dark tabards and tunic as Anakin slid his arm around her. He looked out the window before them, the last dregs of the day burning out brilliantly in a deep orange to give rise to the calming blue of night. "Tomorrow, okay?" he said, resting his jaw against the top of her head.

"All right," Padmé agreed.

Tomorrow, Anakin thought. The galaxy could wait just a few more hours before everything changed, before he tried a new tactic in the hope of triggering a new outcome. Let the dreams come tonight; he couldn't stop them. Let Obi-Wan react in whatever manner he deemed necessary. Let the Council make their decisions.

Anakin had already made his.

For now they would be as they were - husband and wife in the still of the night, the promise of love and family shrouded in secrecy and silence, and the promise of a new hope on the dark horizon.


End file.
